


A Tale of Two Performers

by Pastelient



Series: Stories from the Void [1]
Category: Balan Wonderworld (Video Game), NiGHTS into Dreams, ナイツ 〜星降る夜の物語〜 | NiGHTS: Journey of Dreams (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastelient/pseuds/Pastelient
Summary: Balan had originally been writing scripts for his performers to follow, however a mysterious melody floated in through his window, and out through his ear. . .
Relationships: Balan & NiGHTS
Series: Stories from the Void [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980796
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. In the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I do not claim to own any of the characters mentioned in this work. This is a piece of fiction, and is non-profiting. 
> 
> 'NiGHTS into Dreams', 'NiGHTS: Journey of Dreams', as well as NiGHTS (character) belong to SEGA.
> 
> 'Balan Wonderworld', and Balan (character) belong to Square Enix.

The gentle drift of the flute brought Balan up to the roof of his theater. He had been in the middle of preparing for new arrivals to join his show, writing out scripts to follow, and actions to mimic when he heard it. Into the room from nowhere, flowing through an open window and out through his ear, a melody with no proper direction. Despite that, it was gorgeous. Solemn, and soft, yet tragic. It was the cacophony of emotions that sent him flying out of his office, quill and ink both forgotten and up the stairs towards the top. 

Attempting not to arouse the flutist, Balan opened the door a smidgen, peeking through the cracks he created. The maestro half expected to find a street performer occupying his roof, something that had become too common an occurrence for comfort. There, among the evening sky, floated a creature, unlike any fellow Balan’s eyes had come across. He’d seen his fair share of entities in his lifetime, what with his travels with visitors to the theater, and whatnot. But this one struck him with awe. 

Ethereal, glistening akin to that of freshly fallen snow under the starry night sky, glittering as though prismatic particles varnished it. The grandeur of this creature did not just lay in its glow, but the clothing, garbed in the silks and stains of traditional Venetian attire dyed a fantastical purple. 

Balan took an unconscious step forward out from behind the door, transfixed. The sharp clack of his heel made his presence known, and the melody screeched to a halt with a cacophonic note. Dead silence. Not even a whistle of wind from the breeze permeated the tension. It remained this way for more time than Balan wished for, a small drop of sweat forming on his cheek. He never thought, amid his discovery, if the creature he was viewing was dangerous. It never crossed his mind as he had put his attention on the details instead of what mattered. If this thing could  _ hurt  _ him.

Balan gazed in terror as the creature cocked its head back, staring daggers into his soul, and his ever-present smile faltered. 

The wish to keep his limbs attached to himself had more strength than his curiosity. Back the way he came, Balan took careful yet quickened steps, keeping his heel in mind this time. But the creature was quicksilver, taking away his freedom and pinning him up against the brick of the building with gloved hands and a vigorous grip. Gloved hands hiding nastily sharp claws underneath that dug into the fabric of his vest, but he dared not move an inch and create havoc. Balan wanted to scream, call for help, but a voice in his head whispered ‘Don’t’, and he didn’t. His jaw clamped shut, heart drumming against the cage as a hand reached up to trace his face. So delicate the creature seemed, yet so contradictory was everything else, and for once Balan knew fear. 

He met his sight with the spectral flutist, discovering not a haggard creature, but a being with the grace matching the attire. Balan almost felt himself blush but became repulsed at the realization he found something that could murder him attractive. It seemed illogical, and yet he couldn’t help it. He had a tangent for liking pretty things. Starlight speckled eyes bore into his blankly, looking for something Balan couldn’t quite discern. The pupil, once enlarged with fear, shrunk back into its catty slit playfully, a grin coming across the creature’s face. Like magic, the hands retracted from his shoulders, leaving him to fall to the ground and catch a well-needed dose of oxygen.

_ “You  _ **_almost_ ** _ scared me,”  _ They jested, floating away from the maestro with finesse. Though Balan, amid his panic overload, couldn’t tell if they meant the actions prior was a joke. He huffed, slightly annoyed but happy, and not dead. By any standards, they could have minced him into shreds if not for some god answering his prayers. As fast as they drifted off, they reapproached, poking lightly at his cravat.  _ “Just what even are you?”  _

It was a rudely prompted question followed with some prodding at his face, claws scratching lightly against his skin. Balan found it hard not to wretch himself away, spatting about how he was to be seen, and not touched.  _ “Are you a performer,”  _ Some more pinching to his clothing, specifically the cape that draped his shoulder.  _ “Perhaps some sort of composer? That would be interesting.”  _

“Maestro, actually,” Balan corrected, brushing the grabbing hands off roughly, resuming his million-dollar smile. “Balan, of the theater seated below us,” He bowed, tipping his hat off to his hopeful new companion. Albeit, a touchy-feely one who didn’t seem to respect personal space. Two could play at that game as his hand reached to caress the ruby sitting poignantly atop their chest. It pulsated with an energy he couldn’t decipher, though Balan could gather it was barely being contained with how forcibly it pushed against him. Fascinating, he thought, retracting his fingers. “And… Who might you be, young one?”

_ “So you are a type of composer…”  _ They muttered, sauntering back with a knowing smile. An arm raised over their head delicately, dipping down to their waist as their hips followed, feet in an en-pointe position with legs crossed. Balan was startled at how perfect their form was, envying the obvious flexibility within their limbs and joints, yet also taking note at how it seemed so rehearsed. As if this bow had been given to not just him, but hundreds if not thousands of others.  _ “You may call me Nights, Balan of the Theater Seated Below Us,”  _ They teased, trying to hold back a short giggle behind a barely contained smile. Balan’s brow creased. 

“W-What’s so funny about that? Why are you giggling at me? It’s a perfectly normal introduction!” 

_ “You’re so uptight and formal, it’s suffocating,” _ Nights jabbed, resuming a relaxed posture.  _ “You remind me of someone in my family, and before you say anything, no, that’s not a compliment.”  _

Family? Balan wasn’t sure if he had heard that correctly. Originally thinking Nights to just be a singular creature, hearing they had a family opened up many questions he wished he could ask. Do you have a large or small family? Which of the seven dimensions do you originate? Is there a chance I have met something from where you hail from? The easiest one slipped out of his mouth. “Where… If you have a family, where do you originate?” 

He watched as Nights’ eyes fluctuated between the slit and dilated pupil. It seemed like he punctured a particularly soft nerve, not that he was intending to do so, seeing as how their entire aura shifted from calm to frantic in a matter of seconds.  _ “Well…” _ They began, arms wringing themselves behind their back.  _ “I’m sure you’ve never heard of it, but, I’m from the Night Dimension. More specifically… a nasty, awful part of it.” _

“I see,” The maestro hummed, hand coming to his chin. On the outside, he tried to retain a relatively tranquil appearance as he listened to the entire story. He heard brief portions of it, but it still did nothing to rest his looming unease. The display of behavior earlier should’ve suggested it, but he wasn’t sure as to why he ignored the signs. Perhaps it’s because Nights, to him, was attractive. Or maybe he was allured too far in by their charm from earlier. Whatever the reason was, hearing the words ‘Nightmare’, and ‘Nightmaren’ come from Nights rang several alarm bells. 

Balan had only ever been told stories of what Nightmare was actually like from those who got too close to it for comfort, and was glad that he never dared trespass over the border. From what he had heard, his initial depiction had been a hellish, barren land filled with bloodthirsty entities that had it out for the human populace, all ruled over by some sort of mephistophelian deity. 

He could even recall one of his performers talking about encountering a nightmaren who looked strikingly similar to the one in front of him, though burlier and quick to the kill. 

Yet, with all the things that came to mind and downright terrified him, he couldn’t possibly compare Nights to anything he’d heard rumor of. They certainly didn’t fit the need of terror, donning lighter colors as opposed to more saturated ones. And, if he ignored the scuffle from earlier, they’ve been nothing but nice to him. A little impudent, but nothing to the point where it was particularly uncomfortable. “I just… I can’t wrap around how you’re from Nightmare when you’re so…” 

The warm feeling of hands returned, Balan easing into the slight pressure on his shoulders.  _ “Forget that I’m from Nightmare, and literally everything else you’ve heard about it. If I had desired you dead, you would’ve been six feet under already,”  _ He knew it was an attempt to console him, though the last comment made him tense. The lack of response made Nights whine.  _ “I’m not really good at these things, I know! But, just put some faith in me, alright?” _

Balan looked to the side, and noticed a sliver of sunlight appearing on the horizon. “You’re from the Night Dimension, right? It would be wise to consider leaving soon…” He muttered, nudging his head so Nights could see the rising light. 

_ “Oh, well I overstayed my welcome anyways… One hell of a night, huh? I bet you weren’t expecting to spend your evening like this,”  _ Nights sighed, spinning away from Balan and moving upwards, a trail of sparkles following not far after.  _ “Thanks for keeping me company, though! It gets lonely, being by myself all the time I mean. I appreciate it, even if the beginning was rocky.”  _

“Wait!” Before they could depart, Balan ran to grasp their hand, just barely missing by a thread. They turned around, looking at the maestro clearly with bewilderment. “Please, you are welcome here. Anytime you want. Any night you want. Tonight, I misjudged you, and I’d like to rectify that in the future. I can push aside everything just for a chance to get to see you again, so please…” 

Nights was quick to dislodge their hand from Balan’s grip, pushing a tuft of golden hair back under their hat before giving a quick gentle, yet puzzled smile. They shrugged their shoulders.  _ “We’ll see.”  _

The last Balan saw of Nights was a trail of sparkles disappearing behind a cloud, before vanishing entirely in a small spark of light. As if they had never even existed in the first place. Yet, somehow deep down, he knew that they did. And even stranger, he knew they would return. 

Balan took one last look over his shoulder to gaze longingly at the morning speckled sky. “Don’t be a stranger,” He cheered politely, proceeding to lightly hum the tune that brought him up to the rooftop in the first place. 

  
  
  



	2. Dream Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's another normal night for Balan, but this time he has company. . .

Balan pinched his temple. “And, you got inside how?”

Nights had almost smiled but opted instead to smirk cheekily, sticking their tongue out in a mocking manner. _“The door.”_

The quill in Balan’s hand suddenly felt quite snappable, his unoccupied fingers rapping against the table. Utterly beside himself, he stared completely dumbfounded at the nightmaren sitting across from him. Deciding to press, he discarded the quill into its respective well, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. “I know I locked it this evening,” Balan asserted calmly, surprising himself considering how thin his patience was wearing. “I’ll ask again; How did you get inside?” 

The jester rolled their eyes, picking lightly at their claws. _“You sound so unhappy to see me, even after you told me a few days ago I could fly in whenever I pleased,”_ Their gaze sharpened. _“Unless I was mistaken, in which I will leave if that is what you wish.”_

Despite the obvious show to make it seem like they were unaffected, Balan could point out the slight watering in Nights’ eyes. A part of him just wanted them to leave so he could work in silence. Yet, the other half reminded him that Nights was often alone, and most likely dropped by to fill the space in between. Though he was caught off guard, Balan resigned himself with a sigh, snapping his fingers to trigger the gramophone in the corner of the office. “You caught me at a bad time, so you’ll have to forgive me,” The lilt of jazz filled the silence. “It’s not that I don’t wish your company, it’s just that I’m in a sort of mess, you see?” 

Nights only reclined further back into the loveseat, humming in response. Their legs crossed over each other, and it appeared that they had started to doze off. The jazz, much to Balan’s relief, seem to conciliate them like a gentle pet would a cat. With the beast tamed he resumed his prior work, allowing himself to become reabsorbed in his tasks. Well, one beast was tamed, the other lay awake in front of him taking the form of scripture on parchment. An elaborate performance, one to top the rest he had created, guaranteed to wow the audience with it’s splendor. However, something was missing, and Balan knew it was his inspiration. The sort of whimsy that made the audience truly feel like a part of the performance from their seats. Something so magical that even non-believers could sense the wonder. Even with a score to end all scores, and a beautifully diverse cast of talents from all over, it lacked the enthusiasm Balan was renowned for. To the maestro, it seemed bland compared to his previous, just short of something astonishing. He huffed out a sigh, mulling over what seemed to be just a page of stage directions and nothing more. 

“No… this will never do,” The maestro muttered, green locks following the shake of his head. “It’s not good enough for the general populace if it isn’t good enough for me.” 

The seat ruffled from across the room. _“Don’t say things like that, Balan,”_ Nights murmured, seemingly still half asleep. Or whatever asleep was for a nightmaren. _“You’re letting now dictate the future. What may not be standard now could become something extraordinary later. Give it some time, come back to it when you need to.”_

Some time? Time, Balan ruminated, was unfortunately not on his side. Not with an audience waiting, or the pressure to have something new by the holiday rehearsed and ready. Not with so many of his employees counting on him to keep the theater running so their jobs may be kept. Not with what felt like the entire world on his shoulders. He simply didn’t have time, and to think he was being told to relax by something who probably didn’t have to worry about such woes ground his gears up more than it should have. They ground so hard that they sparked, igniting a brimming fire within Balan. “I don’t have the room to relax, Nights,” He hissed, fists clenched together enough that his fingernails dug into his skin. His hair raised off of his shoulders, seeming with a life of it’s own. “The leisure you have is not something I can grasp if so many individuals are counting on me! Do you know what it’s like to carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders? Have you dealt with people who depended on you like an ill animal? Do you have ANY idea what hurd-” 

Featherlight, yet firm. The grip of a thumb and forefinger holding his lips sealed, refusing to budge until he calmed down. Balan’s nose registered the scent of vanilla lavender, something that had been ingrained in his mind ever since that eventful night. With Nights this close to him, he could clearly see the freckles that line their cheeks like stardust, and how they shone better slightly tinted pink. Speaking of tinted pink, he could feel his own cheeks become alight with emotion, heart pounding slightly more against his rib cage. _“You’re annoying when you ramble.”_

If he had nails as sharp as the talons Nights hid underneath their gloves, he would’ve shredded them without a word. Thankfully, the maren immediately corrected themselves. _“I’m sorry! Well no, I’m not terribly sorry since it was still annoying to listen to, but I recognize that is not what I should’ve said.”_

Balan was still angry, static prickling at his veins. Yet, as Nights stepped away, he couldn’t find the gall to say anything. He should’ve lashed out again, berating them on their horrible choice of words, but his throat felt like a ribbon had constricted around it. All it took was a simple bold action, and the maren in front of him could reduce him to nothing but a sappy puddle. And left lingering on his lips was the feel of the fabric they wore upon their hands, soft like velvet yet smooth like satin. Surely, they’d be the death of him. 

Nights’ eyes shifted over to the gramophone as the song changed into a slower, smoother piece. _“Do you dance?”_

“Of course,” Balan replied curtly. “Though, I’m not sure what much good dancing could do right now.” 

_“You need a break,”_ Nights extended their hand towards him with a sheepish smile. _“I can’t imagine the idea of you exploding into a million pieces due to frustration is how you want to go out.”_

The idea of dancing appealed to Balan’s mind greatly, but the papers on his desk had a phantom grip on his mind. His priority was to finish this for the sake of everyone else, and the sheer thought of abandoning his work for even a second made him unsure. But, the hand in front of him was so inviting, and the music seemed to lull him into a calmer temper. Even with bitterness still lingering in himself from the confrontation earlier, against his better judgement he relinquished his worries and stood up from the chair that had once seemed inescapable. 

The hand fit surprisingly well in his own. It pulled him in, gently with care as if he were made of porcelain. Not to mention, off the ground which startled the maestro at first, but he quickly relaxed into it. With the same softness, his arm wrapped around their waist, stopping just above the fabric of what Balan thought was a corset. It felt awkward to Balan, and most likely to Nights as well, but they didn’t seem to mind as they began to gently sway along to the tempo. A few minutes of fiddling around with different positions ended them up locked together in an embrace, heads resting on each other's shoulders. Balan hated to admit that it felt gratifying, but with nothing being exchanged between them except for slight clutches here and there allowed his mind to ease. 

“Do you often dance with your friends like this?” 

_“Not usually, but it feels similar to when I dualize with someone. Almost like completion.”_

Completion wasn’t the word Balan would’ve chosen for this, but it came pretty close to the idea he had. The scent of lavender vanilla practically encompassed him now, but it reduced his stress like aromatherapy, and he figured that breathing in large amounts of it was something he wouldn’t mind doing often. It was almost like heaven, and a miniscule part of him envied the people Nights got to see on a daily basis. Perhaps they got to experience this all the time, and to say that this tiny portion of his soul wasn’t slightly jealous would be a generous statement. 

“You know,” Balan started quietly. “You are awfully forward. It makes me wonder sometimes what your motives are.” 

_“I have no motives… You were in need of comfort, and this is seeming to work just fine. A favor for a friend, if you will.”_

Balan chuckled, and smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I appreciate it, even if this is a tad awkward,” Begrudgingly to him, he released from the embrace, allowing his arms to fall at his sides. He wished that he could ask Nights to stay for a while longer, but the knowing tint of light in the corner of his eye alerted him that it was the end of yet another encounter. 

_“It wasn’t awkward to me. You made it weird for yourself, but whatever floats your boat, I suppose,”_ Nights looked out the window, bearing witness to the rising star. _“I hope that whatever you’re working on turns out spectacular in the end.”_ Like magic, the windows parted open and they instantaneously floated out into the open. Balan bolted over, perching at the sill and enduring the chilly morning air to see them off. 

He tipped his hat. “Let me know in advance next time if you plan on stopping by.” 

The jester raised their brow bone, the teasing behavior from earlier returning in full force. _“The only advance you’ll get next time is a knock on the window, and a question of whether or not I can come in.”_

“Deal, but you better not barge in.” 

_“No promises, Maestro.”_

Similar to the night a while ago, they were gone in the blink of an eye, disappearing into the sea of clouds. Balan heaved out a breathy yawn, shutting the windows after the last sparkle from the trail left by Nights vanished. Another night spent getting absolutely no work done was bad on Balan’s part. It meant he would have even more work to do when he awoke in the middle of the afternoon, and considering Nights tended to visit whenever they pleased, the evening no longer seemed like the ideal time to finish remotely any work. 

Balan retired to his sleeping quarters to finally get some well needed rest, hope heavy in his chest that Nights would return soon, but during a time where it was convenient for the both of them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the heck is a slow burn ya'll this will burn fast if I want it to
> 
> Honestly I did not intend to write this as a romance but here we are uhhhhhhhh- All I desire are more sweet moments between these two but for plot convenience that can't always happen
> 
> Also Balan getting angry is kinda... something I wanted to play around with. I know he's labeled as a maestro, but to me he feels more like an entire director... The pressure of putting on good performances is most likely something that weighs heavy on him, as not only would a bad performance wound him, but also those who work at the theater in general... So yeah, angry Balan in this chapter. Not something you'll see often though.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Chapter three is in the works currently, and will be posted promptly when it is finished! Thank you all so much for reading, and enjoying this as much as I am :)


	4. When in Rome, Do as the Romans Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // Beginning of an Event: Lost in Paradise //

It all feels so hazy that Balan can hardly believe he’s gazing at the sky. A sky dotted with cotton ball clouds that pass by lazily, soaring with the breeze that moves the reeds of grass. When he sits up to gaze at the valley, he swears he can see a straight line of lighter green traveling along where the wind touches. It’s such a peaceful sight that, even when he finds his footing, he’s still stricken with such awe that can only be described as euphoric appreciation. 

Everything seemed perfect, right as rain as he’d say, from the trees that whistled with the wind to the flowers that sparkled with dew in the sun. Yet… everything seemed too perfect. Too surreal. Too beautiful. Even the flowers reminded Balan of plastic, and though the sweetness this place held was present, it all felt so artificial that any more of it would give him cavities. 

Leaning down, Balan picked one of the vanilla blossoms blooming in the fields. The stem felt slightly ribbed and slimy, with the speckled petals still being just as soft as a butterfly wing. Even the scent, lightly floral and delicate, matched. Raising the bloom to his nose, Balan took a good whiff, and let out a content yet frazzled sigh. This was all such insanity to him, and part of him desperately wished for something to happen to break the illusory perfection this world was trying to sell him. 

When the wind picked up, going from breeze to forewarning of a storm, however, something took root within his stomach and alerted him that something was incredibly out of place. Everything shifted, the trees now brashly following the wind, leaves creating a train midst the violent clouds that rolled in. A sour taste danced upon his tongue, watching with horrified confusion as the petals of the vanilla blossom began to wither at the ends, going brown with rot before his very eyes. 

And with the storm that brewed, a trail of smoke was not far behind it, raging forward with such fury that Balan took cover behind a large, aged and musty trunk. A hand clutched at his chest, the mantra of ‘be still, my beating heart’ echoing in his mind. It was all so peaceful before, and yes it was true that he wished for something to shake things up. But not like this, where he was desperately trying to keep his breathing in check, or staying as quiet as possible to not alert whatever rode the thunderstorm. This feeling of fear… Balan knows he’s felt it before. Encountering the being known as Nights had gone similarly to this, with his heart thrumming against his chest cavity as those claws had burrowed their way into his vest coat. Everything after that had been relatively peaceful, their visits becoming a welcome reprieve from his ongoing quest to write the greatest show ever produced. 

Yet, this was not one of their meetings. And the terror blazing a pathway through his body was increasingly real. 

“I’m at my wits end with you,” Balan’s ears picked up, lightly twitching against the vibration of the voice. Distinctly male, and holding a weight of urgency so heavy that his voice bordered on the line of incensed. “Have you no shame for your actions? Do you realize the consequences?” 

A throat was cleared, to which Balan picked up almost immediately and rushed to peek his head around the tree. Sure enough, amongst the flower laden fields, floated Nights as particularly immaculate as usual. Though they were accompanied, a being looking similar to them floating in the front, appearing as grandeur as Nights themselves. What with the golden chains that seemed to wrap like vines around his legs, and the long cloak of onyx feathers flowing behind him. Judging by Nights’ stance towards the threatening individual, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as dangerously as they had been on their first encounter, Balan could gather that whatever came to visit was highly unwelcome. 

“You always seem to be at your wits end with me,” Nights practically seethed, eyes growing cattier by the minute. “Give it a rest. A trip here and there isn’t hurting anyone, Reala.” 

“Oh? It’s not hurting anyone, is it,” The man, no,  _ Reala _ , countered, flicking his hand to the sky as if gesturing to someone. And for a split second, a minor one really, Balan could’ve sworn he saw a glittering pair of  _ golden daggers  _ lacing his fingers. “Always thinking about yourself, aren’t we, Nights. Never once taking into account the feelings of others, because as long as you’re having a grand time, nothing else matters, does it?”

“Better get on with it now before you lock yourself into a poetic stupor,” Nights craned their head towards the tree, possibly originally to look away or roll their eyes, but the minute their eyes met Balan’s it seemed as if the time to panic was now. At first, confusion nestled its way into their pools of blue. Seconds later, their eyes melted into a purple hue, stricken with anger yet equal fear. 

“Is this about my travels to the waking world? If so, you have nothing to worry about,” Flurried eye movements darting towards the backend of the tree spoke easily for themselves; get behind, stay quiet, do not move. Balan, choosing to live instead of perishing at the hands of Reala (who honestly looked like he could and would punch him into pulp if spotted), did as told and held himself in a tight embrace behind the tree, hoping no part of him slipped out or was visible. And even if it was none of his business, his ears continued to pick up parts of the conversation between the two nightmaren. “Everything is under control, I promise.” 

“Under control is being generous, but I only came here to give you a forewarning that, if this continues, I cannot guarantee you won’t end up caged once again,” Reala bluntly put, yet there was an all too distinct pause between his words. “... Is there someone behind me?” 

The sweat drop forming at Balan’s forehead finally trailed its way down his face. The gentle hum Nights let out reassured him that, in Nights’ own words, everything was under control. “Nope. Even if there was, you would’ve noticed them by now.” 

Reala sighed, and from what Balan could gather, seemed to be finished and ready to depart. “Speaking with you is like speaking to a wall, in one ear and out the other,” He murmured, distinguishable frustration lacing his tone. “I’ll take my leave, but please, for once in your lifetime, think about what I’ve told you.” 

There was a small ‘whoosh’ sound, the telltale sign of Reala flying off, similar to when Nights leaves for their home during the early eve. And while Balan breathed out a breath he’d been holding in his lungs, he immediately choked on his own release. Up in the swirling clouds of grey, directly seated where the storm formed, Reala was piercingly staring straight at him, his stance remaining uptightly disappointed and infuriatingly confused. Tight-lipped and straight he was, black lips akin to that of a harlequin held in a scowl seeming to hold back a thousand questions. The malicious fury raging in his cobalt eyes, however, denied the relatively unaffected poise he tried to present. Balan could only return the look with a sheepish, unsure smile of his own, shoulders shrugging on instinct. 

And though Reala’s eyes only widened as if to suggest the question that Balan was mocking him, he  _ thankfully _ departed without a word and took with him the inclement weather. With the clouds gone and the stench of decay vanishing by the second, the world seemed to revert back to its original state with the sun glimmering upon the land once again. 

The maestro stepped out from behind the tree, expecting to be greeted casually by Nights, but was disappointed to see that they instead shared an equal frustration with the maren who just left. Balan sighed, bowing his head. “I cannot fathom why you are angry with me, nightshade.” 

“I haven’t the right to hold some form of discomfort when you not only show up unannounced without even the gall to introduce that you arrived, but you also choose to eavesdrop on what was supposed to be a relatively private conversation?” 

Balan wanted to have an ‘in the right’ moment, and retort to Nights that they showed up without notice every single time, yet he conceded, biting his tongue in silence. This wasn’t worth a petty argument. “I apologize for being rude,” He admonished with sincerity. “But please, try to understand that… I have no idea where I am, or how I got here. Hell, I don’t even understand why you’re here!” 

“You don’t…” Nights took a moment to analyze his face, looking for signs of joking Balan simply didn't have. “How do you  _ not _ know where you are?” 

“I… um… well, how would I know?” 

Nights, seemingly ready to dive off a cliff, let out a frustrated whine that sounded of a combination between a shout and a growl. “Fine, I’ll explain, but only because you seem to be so dense that it is completely beyond me how you claim you’re a, and I quote, ‘bonafide problem solver’,” Nights floated off of the ground, gesturing to Balan, and then back to the fields of green around them. “You are currently in the Night Dimension, the world where I, the person who you saw before, and many other denizens of the darkness come from… I do believe I told you about this place, unless I am mistaken…”

Though it took Balan a moment to process the words that left Nights, it was like clockwork when the puzzle pieces began to fit into each other, creating a whole image from what was once a broken impression. The plasticity of it all, top to bottom, finally made some coherent sense to Balan. Most importantly, it explained why Nights could now be seen with such vivid detail that even their very presence shined brighter than ever before, and how their speech was less distorted than it had been while they were visiting the waking realm. But, even with the wonderful revelation, the maestro's mind was still brimming with questions unanswered. The most important… “How did I even get here, if the case is that I am, in fact, in the Night Dimension?” 

Nights snorted indignantly. “You’re asleep, obviously.”

Asleep? But, Balan couldn’t recall falling asleep last night. Let alone for the past few nights, as he’d been far too absorbed in writing his grandest show. There wasn’t any time to part ways with consciousness if work had to be done. Not to mention, Balan barely ever slept a wink in the first place. Technically, he didn’t even need to sleep at all if he didn’t want to. Sleeping was a luxurious activity, not a necessity. “But that’s simply impossible, my dear,” Balan mused, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s no possible way that I am asleep… Are there other ways to enter the Night Dimension without needing to fall into sleep’s embrace?” 

“There are gateways, however…” Nights trailed off, looking in the direction where Reala had flown off earlier. “I thought they were mostly condemned… Unless you fell through somewhere?” 

Balan considered that to be the best possibility, considering he awoke in the Night Dimension on his back in a field of green, not quite figuring he was there until the haze that overtook his brain space had calmed. “Perhaps… I did fall through… Maybe…” 

Nights went silent for a moment, contemplation clear on their face. “... I think I know someone who could help you, or really, us, in this situation,” Their hand outstretched towards Balan. “You might be stuck here a while, but… I don’t know why you’re here, and you definitely don’t act like most visitors who come here in their sleep, so I’m kinda at a loss.” 

The hand was so inviting, as it always had been. The woven satin gloves seemed to be a weakness for Balan, and though he obviously knew why, that was a bridge to cross another day. It all seemed so surreal, how he got stuck in the Night Dimension, but now equally had to navigate it all to get home. A confusion conundrum to be sure, and how Balan hoped Lance would be able to run the theater by himself in his absence. The show must go on, as they say in the business, and Balan wasn’t about to let a foreign world tear away that philosophy from him. Despite the churning uncertainty of it all, he allowed his hand to find itself in Nights’. Unlike the other times he’d held it, it was  _ warm _ , humming, and buzzing underneath with life. Truly in their element, Balan supposed. “You’re sure that this person can help us?” 

“Absolutely,” Nights began to tug Balan along with them, his feet leaving the ground they’d grown accustomed to. “Though, I hope you don’t mind flying around with me. Walking around here is the most arduous way of commuting.” 

How did it always turn out like this? Was Balan weak to the charms of foreign entities, or was it just specifically Nights? Somehow, they’d be able to coerce him into agreeing to anything whether that be slow dancing in his office in the middle of the evening or flying around together in a land completely unfamiliar to Balan. Oh, how he was so… “If flying is the best option, then we shall fly together! Though, I am quite the novice, so you’ll have to forgive me.” 

“I’ll be doing all the work. You just need to hold onto my hand.” 

And with that, Balan watched the area he awoke in grow smaller from over his shoulder, fading into the distance the farther they departed away from it. On the brink of a brand new adventure, Balan let his eyes close, and let the rhythmically smooth flying of Nights encompass him. Hopefully, when he’d wake, they’d be one step closing to figuring this mess out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu
> 
> This story has plans to be so much bigger than I had originally thought it out to be, and towards the end... It might get a bit more... shippy
> 
> This is the beginning of where the real story actually takes off, with Balan being stuck in the Night Dimension! There will now also be future chapters in the perspective of other characters. 
> 
> I hope that this update was worth waiting for! I wanted to figure out the rest of the story before starting to get into the thick of it, because what would happen if I posted this, had no idea where this would head, and just kinda winged it? doesn't make for a good story
> 
> anways prepare for night dimension shenanigains- also cuts to Lance running the theater by himself lmao-
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! your support means the world to me <3


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